Silver Fingers
by katykat11
Summary: Julia is a pickpocket. A damn good one too, having learned from the best. But when her father is caught and arrested, she runs away and escapes to the Brooklyn lodging house, disguised as a boy to protect her identity. Going as Silver, she finds herself caught up in a newsy strike, constant runs from the police, and a mysterious boy named Spot who has taken an interest in her.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey everyone! So I decided to dabble in Newsies after reading some pretty dang good stuff from this category.**

 **Let me know what you all think and enjoy :)**

 **[Disclaimer: do not own any of the Newsies.]**

 **{Unedited}**

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 _Chapter 1_

My father kept a wallet collection; all of 'em pickpocketed from the well-to-do, arrogant, and fancy folk who swarmed the streets everyday. It started out as revenge for the way they treated us poor people, but soon he realized he could make a livin' out of it. So after perfecting his trade and keeping enough money to support our little family of three, he started to become a legend, known on the streets as Flash Fingers-his hands disappearing in and out of unsuspecting pockets in a flash.

And as soon as I could learn how to speak, he taught me his trade. Before long, I also became a force to be reckoned with. My fingers were long and nimble, like my father's, and he started callin' me Silver Fingers. Police reports were out for our arrest, though no one knew the identities of those two "fearsome pickpockets", as the newspapers put it. My father looked old and frail, so it was easy for him to lift items below the radar, and I was an adolescent girl who had bright, shining eyes, as innocent as a lamb. No one suspected us.

Until the day that one of us let their guard down on the job, and someone saw us. They must've reported it, because that night there was a loud banging on our door during dinner. I looked up from my food as my father opened it, starin' straight into the faces of three police officers.

"John Scott?" the one in front asked, his moustache twitching as his lips moved.

And that's when all hell broke loose. It seemed as if my father knew exactly what-or who-they'd come to arrest, and he instantly bolted from the door, yelling at us to run. Quick on my feet, I sprinted up the stairs and turned left into my small bedroom. I heard pounding on the wooden stairs as a police officer followed me. If his grunts were an indication, he was getting closer.

My long braid whipped my neck as I searched for an escape. I heard a crash from downstairs but didn't have time to worry about what it was before I leapt at the one window in my room. It was small, and being a sixteen year old girl, I barely squeezed myself through before the police officer was graspin' for the space where my ankles had just been.

I dropped painfully into a pile of shrubbery below. It hurt like hell, the branches scratching and breaking the skin on my arms, legs, and face.

I recovered real quick and sprinted toward the street. My braid flew behind me as I took off, weaving in and out of the people shuffling along the road. Cars beeped at me as I ran through traffic, and I practically jumped someone's hood trying not to get hit.

"Hey, stop!" someone yelled from behind me. I turned as I raced ahead. A police officer, probably the one who'd chased me up the stairs and out my window was following me, his wooden club waving as he ran.

I turned the corner onto a busy street, pushing past people and ignoring their exclamations of protest as I knocked into them. Finally I reached a dark alley and sprinted through, hoping it would lead me somewhere I could be safe and hide out for a while. Once I jogged a bit further and couldn't see or hear the policeman anymore, I slowed to a walk in order to catch my breath. It was dark now, only the streetlamps lighting my path. I could hear the slow lapping of water and knew that I was somewhere near the docks.

I could hear my heart pounding in my chest from the adrenaline that was still pumping through my body, and decided I should start finding a disguise.

Walking a ways down a road that was fairly empty, I came across a tailor shop. It was small and shoved between several apartment buildings, but I was hoping they had decent options. The bell above the door jingled as I walked in.

"Excuse me, sir," I said, walking up to the counter. An older man sat on a stool by the register, polishing his glasses. He looked up when I spoke, placing the spectacles back on his face.

"Hello, my dear," he said in a tired yet friendly manner. "What can I do for you?"

"I was wondering if you had any caps," I replied.

"Well, I have a few women's hats in the back. I can go check if you like," he said, standing up.

"Oh, I meant like a men's sort of cap." Well that wasn't weird at all. In order to make it seem less suspicious in case the police came looking, I amended my statement. "My brother needs a new one. His ripped a few days ago."

"Let me check," the old man said, disappearing into the back of the shop. He returned in a few minutes holding a couple caps, one black and rather nice looking and the other a dark brown that looked like it'd been a donation.

"I'll take the brown one," I said, reaching into my pocket for the coins I always kept in case I needed them. He took the money and gave me the cap, and I thanked him as I walked for the door.

"You have a nice night," he called. "Oh, and these streets can get rough at night. Stay safe out there."

"Definitely working on it," I mumbled to myself, letting myself out.

Once outside and out of the man's line of sight, I pulled the cap tight on my head and tucked my braid into it, hoping the bulge in the back wasn't obvious. I had enough dirt on my face and had never been one for makeup-considering we couldn't afford it anyway-so I was confident this disguise would help me. After all, the police were looking for a teenage girl. From this moment forward until I could figure out what had happened to my parents, I was a teenage boy. Thankfully, even at sixteen, my breasts were a little below average size, so they probably wouldn't be too much of a problem. Maybe in the morning I could find some cloth to wrap them in. The summer nights were warm, so I wouldn't have to worry about sheltering myself from the elements.

As I got closer to the edge of the water, I saw a bunch of crates piled on a dock stretching out several meters into the bay. That might offer enough cover for tonight, I thought. I made my way to the dock and squatted in the human-sized space between two of the crates. Not the most comfortable place in the world, but decent enough.

I lay down, feeling the wood bite into my shoulder blades and lower back. As I drifted off to the first restless night of many, I couldn't help but yearn for my parents and wonder what had become of them.

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 **Well, there's chapter one. Been working on this one all day. Believe me, it's not easy to crank out a four-paged chapter in one day. Especially the beginning of a story, cause the plot's not that good yet.**

 **Review, Favorite, and Follow! Thanks for reading :)**

 **I'll update soon if we can get to...hmm 10 reviews?**

 **-Kit Kat**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys, sorry it's been so incredibly long! I've been extremely busy with life and am only now coming back into writing. I decided taking a little break was probably good for me. Anyway, enjoy Chapter 2!**

I woke to hooting and hollering, and immediately sat up, my head instantly clear. I waited frozen, wondering if it was the police. It was just starting to get light out, with the sun on the horizon, its golden rays reflecting over the water leaving the tips of the little white caps glittering.

Just then, there came three splashes from my right, one after another. There was splashing and masculine sounding laughter, and my curiosity piqued. I peered cautiously around the crates, trying to figure out what all the commotion was.

Three boys bobbed in the water, spraying each other with it. Two of them looked my age, while the last looked like he was no more than eleven.

"Mud, get out the water 'fore I soak ya," a voice called from somewhere to my right. The boxes blocked my view, but the voice sounded deep and manly, and held a tone of authority.

"Aww c'mon Spot," the little boy in the water yelled back. "Just a little swim."

"We sellin' papes in ten minutes, so get your ass out. Ace, why'd ya let him follow you?"

One of the boys my age-not unattractive to say the least, especially when dripping wet in the water- turned toward the speaker and opened his mouth to protest. "Hey, not my fault the little bugger climbed out of bed. Shouldn't ya be happy he's even up at this hour?"

There was a pause, and I could almost imagine the boy I couldn't see rolling his eyes. "Alright, I'se headed to buy my papes. You all wastin' your time down there."

I could hear footsteps retreating, as well as the sound of another clack syncopating with the shoes thudding on the ground.

"Alright, Ace, let's get out. There's a pretty lady who's gonna be waitin' for me at Medda's later tonight, and the sooner I get done hawking, the sooner I get to see 'er." The third boy in the water spoke this time, paddling his way out of my sight, his friends following.

When they had all dragged themselves out of the water, I stood up slowly, my joints aching in protest, and watched them go. They all were lean and wearing caps, similar to mine.

Newsboys, I reckoned. And then an idea formed. The Brooklyn lodging house couldn't be too far from here. A place filled with all boys who darted around the streets of Brooklyn all day selling papers.

The police would never guess.

Late in the evening, after spending the day spying on a few of the newsies selling their papers and then drinking a few beers at Medda's, the bar around here, I followed them back to their lodging house. It was a tall building, the bricks at the bottom a little brown from the dirt caked onto them. The newsies filed in, chatting and laughing among themselves, and when I spotted the boy whose name was Ace from that morning, I fell into step beside him. He was play-fighting with another boy, his cap cocked to the side on his head.

"Ace, right?" I said confidently, though it was awkward to be around so much testosterone in one place.

He paused in his game and turned to me, his eyes sweeping my figure. I already knew what he'd see, cause I'd looked at myself every day in the mirror. Thin face, lean figure, probably could pass for a sixteen year old boy. I drew myself to my full height.

"Yeah?" he replied, skepticism in his eyes. "Who's askin'?"

"Who's the leader 'round here?" I asked, trying to mimic the newsie way of talking.

"Ya mean Spot? He's bringing up the rear," Ace said, jerking his thumb behind him. "Who're you?"

"John," I said, saying the first name that came to mind. My father's.

Ace gave me another once-over and shrugged, continuing into the lodging house.

I waited there uncomfortably and watched each newsie as they walked past, not sure which one was Spot. I didn't ever get a look at his face, and I was considering running into the house and finding Ace again.

Then, all of a sudden, I heard a clack as something hit the ground in-between footsteps. My eyes traveled over the sea of boys until my they locked onto one near the very end of the pack. He was holding a cane, but from the way he walked it didn't seem like he needed it. His hair was sandy blonde and his muscular arms showed as he talked emphatically, waving his hands in the air; he was tall, taller than me by at least a foot, and lean, like most of the other boys. His head turned, almost as if he could feel my gaze, and his eyes met mine. They were light green and piercing, but that only made him seem more mysterious. And somehow I knew this was Spot.

"Spot?" I asked, lowering my voice and approaching him.

"Yeah, that's my name," he replied, stopping. The boy he was talking to glanced at me, back at his leader, and kept going, disappearing into the house. Spot's eyes stared straight into me, and for a second I was sure he knew who I was. "Who are ya, and what business ya got?"

"I'm John," I said. "I wanna be a newsie." I knew nothing about their way of life, but it seemed to me like being a newsboy was pretty self-explanatory. Get up, sell papers, eat, sleep, repeat. Easy enough. And if I couldn't make enough money selling papers, I definitely had other talents I could put to use…

Spot looked me up and down, as if gauging to see if I was worth it. "You ever sell before?" he asked. I shook my head a little shyly.

He sighed. "You got a home, kid?"

Hearing him call me kid made me bristle. Did I really look that young? "No," I replied, standing up straighter like I'd done with Ace. "My parents died. I need to make a livin'. Simple as that."

"How old are ya?"

By this time, all the other newsies had gone into the lodging house. A few were watching from the windows, wondering what this stranger wanted with their leader.

"Seventeen," I replied. "But I'se stronger than I look."

Spot chewed on his bottom lip for a second before giving an answer. "Alright, kid. You got tomorrow to prove yourself. Get up when the rest of us do, sell all ya papes by the end of the day, and we'll find you a cot in the house. If you can't, ya gotta find another place to stay."

"Deal," I replied. "Do I get a room for tonight?"

"A few boys are movin' out in a few days and gettin' real jobs downtown, so until then I guess ya can sleep on the floor in my quarters," he said. He started to walk toward the door of the house, then turned back around. "Oh, and if ya touch any of my stuff I'll soak ya."

Not sure what else to do, I trailed behind him, feeling a bit like a lost puppy following a new master.

As I passed through the the rooms and climbed the stairs to the top of the building, I got a lot of stares from the boys, wondering who this scrawny newcomer was. Self-consciously, I pulled my hat down tighter over my hair. I saw Ace leaning up against a wall in the dining room as we passed, and as he caught my eye he smirked a little.

I tried not to look at all the boys, but there were just so many of them. Tall ones, short ones, dirty ones, somewhat clean ones. Boys my age, boys younger and older. If they knew who I really was, they might've stared longer than they did. They just gave me a nod of respect as I followed Spot. Several flights of stairs and roomfuls of sweaty boys later, Spot suddenly stopped at a door at the end of the hallway. I almost bumped into his back, and barely managed to catch my balance before stumbling backward.

"This is it," he said. His proximity was a little too close for my heartbeat to be normal, but I forced myself to act calm. "Now remember what I said 'bout touchin' my stuff?"

"Don't," I replied confidently, my voice deep. I felt as if I was overdoing it, so I cleared my throat and started over. "You said not to touch anythin'."

"Good," he said. "There's a spare blanket in the closet and you can sleep on the floor."

"The floor?" I repeated, a little surprised. I had never slept on the floor; even in my house I at least had a cot. That's when I remembered that I was supposed to be a boy who was used to this stuff. "Oh, the floor. Of course."

Spot gave me a weird look but shook his head and headed over to his bed, a small cot pressed up against the wall with a sorry excuse for a pillow and a threadbare blanket resting on its surface. Without meaning to my nose wrinkled, but thankfully Spot didn't notice.

"Do ya have a privy?" I asked, awkwardly shifting my weight from one foot to the other. I hadn't showered in two days and I was starting to feel disgusting.

"Yeah," Spot replied, jerking his thumb toward a small closet-sized door in the corner. "But you'se better not use up all the paper or the boys'll soak ya."

"I just wanna wash up," I said. I ducked into the little room and felt alongside the wall for the light switch. Something brushed my face and I nearly shrieked, swatting at it. It came back down in front of my eyes and when I felt the coarseness of the long, thin strand I realized it was a rope hanging from the ceiling. I yanked on it and immediately light flooded the small room. I blinked as my eyes adjusted.

A small toilet was nestled in between a shower and a wash basin. A chipped and slightly warped mirror rested on a nail directly above it, showing my distorted reflection. My face was grimy from sleeping on the docks and sweating all day, and I sighed in relief after splashing cool water on myself. I locked the door and proceeded to strip off my clothing, folding them up in a small pile on the edge of the wash basin. I had found a small cloth to wrap my breasts in earlier that morning, and I hid that under the clothing just in case.

I wrenched on the hot water, but the stupid spigot decided to stay on lukewarm, almost cold. I pulled back the flimsy curtain and hopped in anyway, relieved to see the dirt pooling at my feet and no longer on my body. I took the rag that was in the tub and scrubbed my arms and legs, feeling refreshed and clean.

Suddenly I heard a bang and footsteps shuffle into the bathroom. I froze and I swear my heart stopped.

"Spot?" I asked in a strangled voice. "How'd ya get in?"

"Relax John, ain't nothin' I haven't seen before. The lock's busted. Besides, I'se only in here takin' a pee. Be out in a second," Spot's voice floated from behind the curtain. I covered my important areas and prayed to every god I knew that he couldn't see through the cloth protecting my identity from being found out.

Eventually he ambled out and shut the door behind him. I let out a deep breath and turned off the water, wringing my hair out and stepping out of the shower. I had never changed faster in my life. I tugged on my newsie hat and made the decision to get my hair cut the next day. If they saw me with hat off I was screwed. Especially if it was Spot, who I'd be sleeping near tonight. I vowed to get up earlier than him so I could get ready without being found out, especially since the lock on the bathroom didn't work.

I looked at myself in the mirror, and even though my nose was twice its normal size and my chin stretched down four inches, I saw determination in my face. I would be able to do this. I'd stay underground for however long it took for the police to get off my tail. I just hoped Mama and Papa were okay. I hadn't heard anything about them, but I didn't want to assume that either they or I were in the clear without investigating. I'd do that tomorrow after sellin' papes while the boys got drunk at Medda's.

I walked out of the bathroom and laid down on the cot that was situated on the floor. Spot glanced at me as I settled under the covers, but he didn't say anything. Maybe he thought it was weird I took a ton of time in the bathroom. Maybe he was wondering why I still had my cap on. Maybe he thought something was off about me. But whatever he was thinkin', he kept it to himself and for that I was grateful. If there was a lot of money involved, I didn't know if they'd be willing to turn me over to the police.

It was a nasty thought to fall asleep to, and it kept me tossing and turning the whole night.

 **Hope you enjoyed Chapter 2! I should be updating more regularly, but there's a lot on my plate right now so I'll do what I can.**

 **xoxo**

 **Kit Kat**


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